


your carbon makes a star, and after all that's all we are

by wolfhalls



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, and even a backstory!, oh and, that good old combo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfhalls/pseuds/wolfhalls
Summary: As he starts to fall asleep, Chirrut whispers against his hair. Not long now, not long now. Baze doesn't ask him what that means. Perhaps he knows, deep down. Or perhaps he's too afraid to shoulder whatever it is that Chirrut can see in the future. So he lets Chirrut run his fingers through his hair, lets him work through the tangles. Chirrut has always loved his hair long, and used to braid it when they had all the time in the world. He starts to do it now, and Baze lets sleep tug at him until he goes with it.(or: their last night together and other moments)





	

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from young lions by the maccabees. they're obviously breaking up because i'm using their lyrics for my niche fanfiction.

“Why didn't you become a Jedi?” he asks Chirrut. They are young, Baze eighteen, and Chirrut seventeen. Baze hasn't known him for long, but the _tap-tap_ of his staff on the ground and the way that he grips Baze's shoulder when he laughs have become familiar. The sun is shining, and children play in the temple courtyard.

 

Chirrut turns his face away from the sun and towards the sound of Baze's voice. “Well,” he says. “I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I am actually,” and at that, he drops his voice to a low, theatrical whisper, “ _blind._ ” Baze laughs, and hits Chirrut on the arm. He waits for Chirrut to carry on – and he does, this time more serious. “I don't feel the Force keenly enough to see in the way they'd need me to. I can fight, but not well enough. I can rein in my emotions but only to a point. I'm not -”

 

“Alright, alright. I didn't ask for a list of your character flaws.” Chirrut laughs, and his hand comes to rest on Baze's shoulder. It stays there for a long time, and although it is impossible, Baze swears that he can feel the heat of it through his robes.

 

“If I had become a Jedi we would never have met,” Chirrut says, and squeezes Baze's shoulder just a little bit tighter.

 

Months later, when Chirrut kisses him for the first time, he tells him that he would never be able to be a Jedi because he couldn't not love – not without attachment. It's just started to rain, for the first time in months, and Baze feels like he's coming alive for a second time, with Chirrut's hands in his wet hair and that wide, smiling mouth talking of love. Baze kisses him back, and outside, people in the street cheer and laugh, revelling in the rainfall.

 

The rainy season is Chirrut's favourite time of year. He likes the sound the drops make as they hit the ground, and the smell of the normally dry air between storms. He'll get Baze to climb a tree just outside of the temple grounds, one that grows heavy with fat orange berries when the rains come. Chirrut's mouth tastes of them, and Baze can do nothing else except pull him in for another kiss.

 

Years later, the Jedi fall. The galaxy tips over from uncertainty into tyranny, and Chirrut wakes up screaming. It's a noise unlike anything Baze has ever heard, and for a moment he thinks that death has come for him in the darkness. Chirrut screams and screams and screams, and nothing Baze does can calm him. For hours all he can do is rock him backwards and forwards, run his fingers through shorn hair and promise that he'll never leave him. Eventually, Chirrut's screams die down into hoarse sobs, little pitiful sounds. Those are worse.

 

“The Jedi,” he gasps out. “Gone.” He says that word over and over again. Gone, gone, _gone._

 

In the days that follow the news of the Jedi Order's destruction, Baze hears terrible things. Children, innocent little souls, struck down. Chirrut weeps when Baze tells him, and yet still he believes in the Force. “The good days are still to come,” he says, and Baze kisses him. He is without faith now, but he does believe in Chirrut.

 

“Yes they are,” he says against Chirrut's mouth, knowing that his words will offer some comfort.

 

Chirrut never grows up to be a Jedi, and for that Baze will never stop being thankful.

 

-

 

Baze dreams of dying, mostly. Yes, it's dramatic – but Jedha is edging closer and closer to destruction now that the Empire have taken an interest in it. Chirrut of course, will not leave. Which of course, means Baze cannot. So he dreams of them dying – no, of Chirrut dying. He dreams of holding him, powerless to do anything but watch him go still and silent and then the feeling of being alone, utterly alone. It's like a punch to the gut, so powerful it wakes him up. Sometimes he'll scream, sometimes he'll sob and sometimes, he can't breathe for fear.

 

Each time, Chirrut is there, holding him. He'll stroke his hair, kiss his forehead and whisper into the crook of his neck. _I'm here_ , he'll say, over and over again in the dark. Like one of his prayers.

 

One nightmare comes on an especially cold night, and he carries on shivering long after the dream and the panic have faded. Chirrut has an arm around him, palm flat against his stomach and he is pressing kisses to Baze's shoulder. Baze can't get back to sleep, so once Chirrut has drifted off again he shrugs him off as gently as he can and makes his way to the kitchen. He starts to boil some water, and reaches up to a little shelf where they keep their tea. A spoonful of black leaves, followed by a tiny dried white flower that he crumbles between his fingers. It'll be enough to help him fall asleep again, but not enough to leave him comatose for the best part of a day. Chirrut still hasn't quite forgiven him for that.

 

He senses Chirrut behind him while he's pouring the water into his mug, so reaches for another. Then there are hands at his waist, and a sharp little intake of breath. “You're cold,” Chirrut says. “Come back to bed.”

 

“Can't sleep.” He knows he's being short, but the dream that woke him is still bothering him. He wishes that he had Chirrut's knack for meditation sometimes.

 

“Bad dreams?” Chirrut asks gently. It's not like he doesn't know already, but it's an invitation to talk about it.

 

Baze laughs bitterly. “Yes,” he says. “You could say that.” He turns to face Chirrut then, and his face is so sad he wishes that he hadn't been so curt. He pulls him close, and feeling him here, solid and real, is enough to calm him for the moment.

 

“About me?” Chirrut asks. The panic rises again at that, back again as quickly as it left a moment ago. Baze nods.

 

“We have to get out of here,” he says. “I don't know what those bastards are planning, but when it comes it's not going to be good.” He holds Chirrut by the shoulders, and the other man looks up at him unerringly, unseeing eyes fixed on his own. “We could go anywhere. Anywhere in the system, the galaxy, just-” and he breathes. “I don't want us to die here,” he says finally. “We don't deserve that.”

 

Chirrut sighs, and brings a hand up to card through Baze's hair, pulling it from his tie. He'd started to grow it a few months ago, and now it's curling past his chin. He twirls a strand around his finger, and places his other hand on Baze's cheek. “We won't die here,” he says. “I'll promise you that.”

 

Baze waits for a moment. Nothing. Resignation starts to creep in the pit of his stomach. “But you won't leave.”

 

“No,” Chirrut says. “I won't. Jedha isn't done with us yet.”

 

-

 

When he is forty, he gets sick. He picks up a wound on a job, a nasty, sucking hole in his side. He hides it from Chirrut, not wanting to worry him. Only it becomes infected, and one night he stands there on unsteady legs, the sweat soaking his clothes and his heart racing. The next thing, he is on the floor, shaking, hardly aware of anything apart from Chirrut's panicked breathing in his ear. _Baze,_ he says, _Baze, please. Please, please._ Over the next few days, all he can hear is Chirrut's voice, over and over. Praying, crying, humming a tune as he presses a cold cloth to his burning forehead. There is a blockade on Jedha, and medical supplies are hard to come by. So Chirrut prays. He prays until his voice cracks, until he is sick himself. One day though, Baze wakes up, and the first thing he sees after calling out is Chirrut's face – tired, drawn, but beaming. _I did it,_ he says. _I bought you back._

 

A common misconception is that Baze protects Chirrut. People look at Baze with admiration, Chirrut with pity. What they don't know is that countless times, Chirrut has been the one to protect him. He has comforted him, loved him, willed him back from the brink of death. Baze would be nothing without him. When he tells Chirrut this, he gets one of those smiles that makes his heart stutter.

 

Jedha is crumbling around them now, and the Empire have seized the temple. Baze kills for a living – sometimes with his blaster, sometimes his cannon and when he needs to, his bare hands. Chirrut turns those hands over and over, and Baze tries to snatch them away. “These are the hands of a killer,” he whispers in the dark. “I won't have them on you.” Chirrut kisses them though, and Baze dreams of Chirrut's beautiful mouth wet with blood.

 

He has to take jobs off world sometimes, but Chirrut won't leave. Sometimes it feels as if the weakest thread is holding them together, but Chirrut still holds him through his nightmares, still works his hands through his hair and still clings to him desperately before he leaves. Each time he goes, he's frightened beyond belief that when he returns, Chirrut will be gone.

 

If there is one constant in Baze's life though, it is Chirrut. He always returns, and Chirrut is always waiting.

 

-

 

Four weeks before Jyn Erso and her band of rebels turn up, four weeks before Jedha falls, he and Chirrut take vows in the ruins of the temple. No one else is there – anyone with a flicker of sense had left Jedha long ago. Is it legally binding? Definitely not. If there's one thing neither of them want anything to do with, it's the law. Chirrut just finds one of his worn, ancient books, and Baze reads out the words. They've been inseparable since they were teenagers, and now they're closer to old age than youth. Baze feels eighteen again though, and Chirrut kisses him in a way that's certainly not dignified for men of their age. They kneel on the stone floor, and with hands on each other's hearts, promise each other a lifetime on top of the one that they have already shared.

 

Four weeks, during a war, is as good as. It will have to do.

 

It's dark when they walk home, and there is music coming from one of the taverns that line the streets that lead there. Chirrut stops for a moment, and hums along. Baze recognises the tune, a soft, lilting melody. Under the cold, dark sky, it sounds sorrowful, and for a moment Baze's heart aches. Chirrut must hear him sigh, because he pulls him close and kisses him. For a whole they stay there, kissing against the wall in the little winding street. “Just like when we were young,” Chirrut says softly, and Baze grips his hand.

 

When they make it home, Baze rummages in the cupboard for something for them to drink. He finds a half empty bottle of something green and sweet, and there is a bowl of fruit, those juicy orange berries that Chirrut loves so much, on the counter by the stove. They share it between them, passing the bottle back and forth and taking the berries from each other's hands. Soon enough, Chirrut is on his back, Baze kissing his stomach, the syrupy taste of fruit and alcohol on his tongue. Chirrut sighs, and brings a hand down to stroke Baze's hair.

 

“Please,” he says, and when could Baze ever deny him a thing?

 

-

 

After the disaster that was their trip to Eadu, they arrive at the rebel base soaked to the skin, and Chirrut is shivering by the time they're shown to a boxy little room not far from the cargo bay. Baze feels the cold seeping into his bones too, and feels nothing short of euphoric when he sees that their room, as well as a bed that's actually big enough for two people, has a sonic too. Chirrut sighs, and leans against Baze's shoulder. Stars, he's so tired. They both are. “Come on,” Baze says. “Let's take these off.” He fumbles with Chirrut's robes. Even after years of undressing him, Baze still feels something stir low in him when he's finished. Chirrut's hands are on him then, and he unclips his armour, unbuttons his tunic. The movements are slow, but sure. It's an act that's been committed to memory. 

 

The sonic shower is barely big enough for one, but Chirrut insists that they share anyway. He hooks a leg around Baze's waist, and they move against each other. Chirrut is soft, Baze can feel it against his thigh, but he still sighs each time Baze presses him harder against the wall to kiss him. Twenty years ago, maybe, they would have been rutting like animals and ready to go again in minutes. Now, age has caught up with them both. Bruises mar Chirrut's chest, and Baze can feel his back complaining. Sleep first, he thinks. He kisses Chirrut's wrist where he is holding it against the wall, and he turns the shower off. The bed is barely three strides away. Chirrut doesn't bother to dress. Always so unselfconscious, so aware of how much Baze loves to look at him.

 

“How do I look?” says Chirrut, laying back on the bed. Baze hums to himself for a moment, feigning indecision.

 

“Terrible.” he answers after a few seconds. “If I had turned up to the temple and seen you in this state a few weeks ago I would have walked straight back out.” This earns him one of Chirrut's smiles, a knowing one this time.

 

“I'm sure you would have. Luckily, I was wearing clothes.”

 

“Would have been quite the afternoon if you didn't.” Baze walks to the side of the bed, and kneels so that his and Chirrut's faces are level. He nudges Chirrut's nose with his. “You look tired. I wish you'd stop getting yourself into trouble.” He brings Chirrut's hand to his own face. “How about me?”

 

Chirrut's hand wanders, thumb and fingers mapping out Baze's face. Some things he doesn't linger on, but anything different he feels with keen interest. There's a little tender spot beneath his left cheekbone that's barely swollen enough to notice, but Chirrut does. “What's this?” he murmurs, his thumb moving in gentle circles over it.

 

“One of Saw's men was a little rough with me.” He closes his eyes then, acutely aware of everything that has passed in just a few hours. He breathes in, breathes out. Pushes the anger down into a deep part of himself.

 

“Shhhh,” Chirrut urges. “Come here.” He shifts over on the bed, and Baze steadies him when there is enough room for them both. He lays down, pulling the thin blanket over them. The mattress is thin too, and creaks with each movement they make. Compared to their little home back on Jedha, it's not much. It will do though. It will have to. That home is gone now, along with the entire city.

 

Chirrut brings his hands back to Baze's face, searching once more. He finds bruises, scratches, tiny little things that he demands explanations for nonetheless. He finishes on Baze's lips, and traces them so, so softly. Baze kisses his fingertips, and Chirrut sighs.

 

“How do I look then?” Baze asks once more.

 

“Still handsome.” Another smile, this one not so innocent. “I can hardly believe you're mine.” He says it in a singsong voice, and cocks his head to the side. There is sentiment there though, deep and true. Baze knows this because he feels the same. He clings to Chirrut, on this tiny bed in the dark, and feels like they're being cast away from dry land.

 

As he starts to fall asleep, Chirrut whispers against his hair. _Not long now, not long now._ Baze doesn't ask him what that means. Perhaps he knows, deep down. Or perhaps he's too afraid to shoulder whatever it is that Chirrut can see in the future. So he lets Chirrut run his fingers through his hair, lets him work through the tangles. Chirrut has always loved his hair long, and used to braid it when they had all the time in the world. He starts to do it now, and Baze lets sleep tug at him until he goes with it.

 

-

 

He wakes to Chirrut on top of him, running cold hands down his sides. Chirrut's hand comes to rest at that old scar, the one from all those years ago, and presses down. It's quieter now – there's only the occasional voice coming from beyond the door. Baze stretches and pulls Chirrut down, flush against him. Chirrut is hard, and Baze can feel his body respond in turn. He opens his legs, cradles Chirrut's body between them.

 

“You'll wear an old man like me out,” he says, his voice still rough from sleep. He clutches at Chirrut's arm, feels the firmness of the muscle beneath his warm skin. Chirrut kisses him with purpose then, and there's nothing he can do except reciprocate.

 

“Up, up,” chants Chirrut under his breath, and Baze complies, moves so that his back is against the wall and Chirrut's mouth is at his jaw then and _oh-._ It's been thirty five years, and he's never been tired of this. He will never be tired of this. Every time Chirrut puts his hands on him, those clever, cunning hands, he feels something in him sing.

 

“Do you have anything?” Chirrut says when Baze's hand rests at his tailbone, just waiting for him to say yes. There is something, Baze had seen it earlier in the fresher – a little tube of bacta or lotion no doubt left by the last couple to have shared the room. He tells Chirrut this, who leans his forehead against Baze's shoulder and laughs. “Perhaps they've given us the honeymoon suite,” he says, before he climbs off of Baze's lap, reaching for the wall to centre himself. “Go and get it, before I find a strapping rebel warrior to take care of me instead.”

 

Baze does as he is told. The tube is half empty, but there is enough. When he steps back into the bedroom, Chirrut is sitting up against the wall, his right hand fisting his cock and his left gripping the bedsheets. Baze takes a moment to admire the view, how Chirrut just _knows_ he is being watched and cants his hips just so, making pleased little sounds at the back of his throat. “Come here,” he asks Baze, and Baze sits at the end of the bed, places a hand on Chirrut's knee and urges his legs apart. “Yes,” says Chirrut, “come on.”

 

He works Chirrut open slowly, just how he likes it. When they were younger he'd do this for what felt like hours, until Chirrut came without a hand on him, gasping up at the ceiling. Baze has an urge to do just that now, to commit the sight of Chirrut like that to memory. Chirrut, for all his denials of being a mind reader, rocks down on Baze's fingers, pushing them them deeper. Baze curls them and he is rewarded with a curse, and then a laugh; a low, shuddering thing that makes Chirrut undulate.

 

“Good?” Baze asks, just because he wants to hear what Chirrut sounds like right now. He's flushed, his body relaxed, his mouth open and head turned to the side. Baze moves his fingers, quickly this time, and gets a whine for his efforts. He presses his lips to Chirrut's thigh, and inhales the scent of his skin. Chirrut gasps at that. “Is it good?” Baze asks again.

 

“Yes,” Chirrut says, and his voice is quiet and breathy. “Yes, yes, _always._ ”

 

Patience has never been one of Baze's virtues, and as much as he'd like to make Chirrut come and come again before he even thinks about himself, there's a real sense that this might be the last night they'll spend together for a while. They might even fight alongside the Rebellion tomorrow. Then they may not even-

 

“Shush,” says Chirrut. “You think so loudly. I'll die of old age before you get around to whatever you're planning next.” His voice is light, but he holds Baze's hand tightly. “Come on,” he says, gently now. “I want this, I want you.” Baze leans down and over Chirrut until their mouths are almost touching. “I'm right here,” and then his hand is touching Baze's face.

 

“On top of me,” Baze says. Chirrut sighs and stretches as he sits up but goes willingly – they both love it like this. He's all ready and open from Baze's earlier efforts, so all he has to do is stay still as Chirrut works a slick hand around him and then, slowly, tortuously, sinks down onto him. He could easily come there and then – every single time they do this it feels like the first, pleasure so exquisite it doesn't feel real. He grits his teeth though, and Chirrut laughs at the way he's gone still. “It's your fault entirely,” Baze says. “I should just come this second and leave you to take care of yourself.”

 

“You wouldn't though,” says Chirrut, and he starts to move in a slow up-and-down motion. “You like to-” and his voice wobbles for a moment there. He bites his lip, and starts to move quicker. “You like to see me like this too much.” A groan, from both of them this time. “You like to see me undone.”

 

Baze Malbus is not a liar, so he can't deny that. What he can do is match Chirrut's movements and thrust up into him, fast and deep. He tries to keep quiet when they do this, never quite unselfconscious enough to let go and, well, do what Chirrut does. Chirrut moans and gasps and makes no attempt to stay quiet. Although it's nearly gotten them into trouble a few times, Baze wouldn't have it any other way.

 

“When we do this it's like you're lit up from within,” Chirrut says. “I can't explain it. You feel...golden. Like I've caught a star all for my own.” He always does this when he starts to get close, talking constantly. Some of the things he says are enough to have Baze on the verge of blushing a week later, while some are so lovely he asks Chirrut to say them again and again. Chirrut leans back and moans, back arched, and it's an invitation for Baze to press rough hands into the soft skin of Chirrut's hips. He's so tight, so warm and _perfect._

 

Baze feels it sooner than he would like, that feeling of being pulled taut from some place deep inside himself. “Can I touch you?” he gasps into the skin of Chirrut's neck. It sounds like a plea even to his own ears. Chirrut nods, and Baze has a hand on him in an instant. The heat of Chirrut's cock in his hand feels so good Baze feels dizzy with want, and his own cock throbs, a surge of pleasure that even he can't not cry out at.

 

When Chirrut comes, Baze can't tear his eyes away from his face. He gasps, little stuttering things that sound so loud in the quiet of the room. “Oh,” he breathes out, rocking down onto Baze and shuddering. “Oh, oh, _oh-_ ” and then he's laughing, like he always does. He throws his head back and works his hips in slow, firm circles as Baze touches him, knuckles brushing his stomach and sliding through the wetness his orgasm has left there.

 

When Baze comes barely a minute later, Chirrut kisses him, swallowing any noises he makes as he licks slowly, filthily into his mouth. They're both breathing heavily, and Baze can feel Chirrut's heart hammering as he moves to lay on top of him. They're sweaty and in Chirrut's case, a little sticky. They should shower again, but Baze doesn't feel like moving. Not just yet, anyway - not when Chirrut is smiling against his chest. 

 

Before too long, Chirrut's slow, even breathing lulls him back to sleep.

 

-

 

Jyn doesn't get the council's blessing, but she has theirs. Cassian's too – and he inspires such devotion in his fellow fighters that all of a sudden, they have a small band of rebels ready. Bodhi Rook, the Imperial defector, will fly them – and Baze tells him that he's done right. Bodhi smiles at him, a shy nervous thing, and makes his way to the main hangar.

 

“He's just a child,” Chirrut says. “Jyn and Cassian too. Too young for all of this.”

 

“And I'm too old,” Baze says. They will go though, there's never been the slightest doubt in his mind. As soon as Chirrut had called out to Jyn in the marketplace, he had known that they had seen out their time on Jedha, and that they'd help her however they could. “Still,” he says, hoisting his cannon back over his shoulder. “The Force has shown me scant consideration this far. Why should it be done yet?”

 

“The Force is just, Baze. Not kind.” He holds out his hand, and Baze takes it.

 

No, Baze thinks. The Force is not kind at all.

 

The journey is calm, oddly. It's funny what facing death can do. Baze has been through it enough times that he sits back and watches Chirrut. He's meditating, of course. Baze sits close to him and listens to the prayer that he's repeating over and over again. Baze is so familiar with the sound that he feels like they could be back at home, laying together as the sun comes up and Chirrut murmurs his morning prayers in the red-gold light.

 

As all things do though, the journey comes to an end. Before Bodhi even speaks over the comm and tells them that they're not far away, Baze can see the soldiers becoming restless. Some of them are so young, younger than Jyn. Baze would like to tell them that there's nothing to be frightened of – but what good would it do? Not when the Empire is breathing down their necks and waiting for them with open jaws. There _is_ something to be frightened of, and that's why they're all here.

 

Chirrut cracks his knuckles, and turns his head towards Baze. Baze puts a hand on his knee, and squeezes. “I'm still here.” His knees are stiff, and he straightens his legs. He holds out a hand for Chirrut to take, and for a moment they sit still. Then Bodhi's voice is echoing around the ship again. They've got their clearance, the code worked. There is a collective exhale at that, and conversation around them begins to pick up again. Baze strokes Chirrut's wrist, his thumb moving in little circles. He's done it since they were young, and now feels like the right time to find comfort in old habits. He sighs.

 

“No time for sadness,” Chirrut says. He rests his forehead against Baze's own, and Baze can hear the Rebel fighters around them indulging in one last moment of peace. Some are comrades, some siblings, some like he and Chirrut. He sighs, and cradles Chirrut's face in his hands. It's not fair, he thinks to himself. In another life, they could have lived out their days in peace. They could have had a family. It all flashes before him for a split second, this nearly-life that they have shared as well as this one. He closes his eyes, willing the ship to slow down for a moment, just a moment, _please._ It carries on though, and Baze can do nothing but let the moment pass. He has had his life. In another one he could have not met Chirrut at all, and the thought of that is not one he can even bear.

 

“No sadness,” he says, opening his eyes once more. Chirrut smiles. Baze thinks back to when they were young, when Chirrut would tell him stories of the Jedi, of the great power they wielded, of the peace they guarded so fiercely they would lay down their lives for it. That is something he understands, and for the first time he wishes that he could hear those stories again.

 

The ship lurches, and he hears Cassian saying that it won't be long until they land. Chirrut reaches for Baze's hand and grips it tightly, so tight he can feel his pulse hammer in his fingertips. Next to him, a girl kisses her companion, a quick sweet thing that's a promise of more to come. That, more than anything, makes Baze want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Not for he and Chirrut, but for this girl with her whole life ahead of her.

 

“This is all that we can do now,” Chirrut says, bringing him back into the moment. His voice is so soft that he could be talking about the weather, or the goings on he's seen at the market that day. Baze can hardly hear what's happening around them now, he can just hear Chirrut's breathing. In and out, in and out. He wants to memorize that sound, lock it away from harm's clutches. “Are you frightened?” Chirrut asks him.

 

Baze pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I have you with me, don't I?” Chirrut nods, and breathes out slowly. He is still holding Baze's hand. The ship is juddering now, entering the planet's atmosphere. Baze stands, and Chirrut moves to do the same, leaning on his staff as the ship rocks. The solders around them begin to rise too, and over Chirrut's shoulder, Baze sees Jyn make her way to the front of the ship, Cassian at her side. She clears her throat.

 

Baze meets her gaze and smiles. Without even looking, he knows that Chirrut is doing the same.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe that star wars gifted us with two happily married idiots and then killed them off. what the actual fuck.
> 
> (i was going to post an extended rant about how MAD star wars and everything associated with it makes me, but i just hit myself over the head with a brick and screamed instead. but hmu on tumblr @wolfhalls if you're mad too.)


End file.
